


setting fire to the sky

by brilligspoons



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, Polyamory, Pre-Poly, Space Pirates, Spaceships, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire fully expects to wake up in his own bed and not in the loading bay of a ship hightailing it out of his colony's solar system. As per usual, his expectations are dashed, just in a more spectacular way than he's used to. Still, if he'd known being accidentally kidnapped could end so well, he would've tried it years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	setting fire to the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estelraca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/gifts).



> Written for the following prompt:
> 
> _Space pirate AU. I want to see them fighting the tyrannical intergalactic government in technological wonders that Joly and Combeferre can geek out about for *hours* and which Bossuet really needs to be careful with (how many shuttle crashes is too many for one lifetime? Bossuet is certain that as long as he's still walking away it's not too many). Bonus points for Musichetta existing. Gender bending welcome. Pairings are fine, but if they're going to be present I'd prefer either some kind of OT10 or some grouping of E/R, C/C and J/B/M (E/C/C/R is also always welcome). Marius, Cosette, Eponine, and Gavroche are welcome to join the crew if they'd like._
> 
> This ended up being pre-pre-OT10, kind of, with an established Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta and implied Marius/Cosette(/Eponine). Potential future stories in this universe will have much more OT-whatever happening. \o?
> 
> I should also warn that a lot of the world-building was lifted liberally from the Mass Effect games, specifically the [omni tool](http://masseffect.wikia.com/wiki/Omni-tools) and the [Citadel](http://masseffect.wikia.com/wiki/Citadel), which you can read all about in the links. Other than that, I tried to be as vague as possible re: non-human races and a bunch of other things, so no actual familiarity with the games is necessary at all.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! <3

This is not the room Grantaire fell asleep in.

He can say that with the utmost certainty because he hasn't had a drop of alcohol in nearly seven months, nor has he done any drugs in almost as long (though the opportunities have been _myriad._ His corner of Colony C47E has a certain reputation and it's very much earned, that's for damn sure), so there's just no way he could have blacked out and stumbled into...a warehouse of some kind? No, he definitely remembers crawling under his covers around midnight after a long internal debate over whether he'd have time to scrub the paint off his arms and chest before his dance tutorial in the morning or if he should just get it over with then and there. He'd decided to chance running late, knowing that the mothers of the over-privileged whelps he taught three mornings a week would forgive tardiness before the physical hazard that is Grantaire when he hasn't gotten enough sleep. Wouldn't do to crush Finance Minister Junior's toes now, would it?

He digresses.

None of this is at all helpful anyway, because the sum total of his knowledge is still that he's not in his bedroom, or in any section of his shitty apartment, for that matter. Reconnaissance is in order. He sits up, wincing at the way his body feels like one enormous bruise, and attempts to wake up enough to take in more of his surroundings.

The room itself is large, open, and darkly lit, though he can make out a few things clearly enough. For example, Grantaire discovers as he stumbles to his feet, the reason his body hurts so much is because he's been sleeping atop a hermetically-sealed crate, and there are at least a dozen identical crates stacked to varying heights around him. Each one is stamped with the Intergalactic Alliance medical supplier logo, which makes Grantaire stop and boggle for a moment. He's never seen so many in one place. Two dozen of these crates are supposed to be delivered to each colony every month, but C47E sees maybe five in total every year, if they're lucky. Not that that's public knowledge, of course, but there was a time when—

Shaking his head, Grantaire ducks around the crates to continue his search. A few feet from where he's standing, the floor material changes from smooth metal (military interstellar ship grade, old, judging by the rough gouges regular wear and tear tend to leave behind) to a rougher, grittier material, the kind used in ships to provide land rovers with enough traction to move and brake as needed upon deployment and re-entry. It's then, as he's still staring down in disbelief, that he notices the tell-tale hum of an interstellar cruiser's drive core vibrating through the floor and into his bones.

And then an alarm goes off.

"Shit," Grantaire whispers, freezing in place. There's no way to tell if he tripped it somehow, or if something else is happening on another part of the ship, but it doesn't exactly matter either way. " _Shit._ "

"Shit, indeed, my friend," someone says from behind him. The familiar whine of a thermal pistol engaging punctuates their words.

_This never would have happened if I'd stayed a drunk,_ Grantaire thinks as he throws his hands up in surrender. He doesn't turn around, instead wiggling his fingers to show just how unarmed he is. _Not that this will stop them from just shooting me, probably, but might as well try it out._

"I don't suppose you'd believe me when I say this is a mistake and not at all where I thought I'd wake up?" he asks.

"Actually, I would," the person says. "Turn around. Keep your hands up."

Grantaire obeys. Pointing the pistol at him is a person of indeterminate gender wearing the standard Alliance BDUs from roughly five years ago. They're—well, they're _tall_ , at least half a head taller than him, and their muscles are ridiculously cut, and just—okay, Grantaire has never lied to himself about what he finds aesthetically attractive in a person (which would be lots of things, actually, but that's beside the point), and he's not about to start now. Luckily he's never been fond of guns, even when they're not pointed directly at him, so he doesn't have to worry about embarrassing himself (yet, anyway).

"Bossuet, frisk him," Tall-and-Very-Muscular says, and it's only then that Grantaire realizes there are two other people pointing weapons at him.

The person who steps forward to pat him down (completely bald, bearded, really gorgeous green eyes that sparkle a little in the low light) almost knocks him over, catching him with one arm around his chest before he falls. The third person (wild dark curls that barely fit under the knit cap she's wearing) smiles at him, and in spite of the fact that Grantaire still has reason to think they'll eject him into space, he finds himself relaxing a little. He feels even more at ease when Bossuet declares him weapon-free and the pistol gets disengaged and holstered.

Tall-and-Very-Muscular sighs and gestures for him to follow. "Time to break the news to Enjolras."

_That doesn't sound foreboding at all,_ Grantaire thinks.

***

Enjolras (blond, also tall, also _smoking hot_ like everyone else Grantaire's seen in his short time on board—where has this ship been all his life?) is the captain, apparently, if the deference the rest of the crew shows him is any indication. In Grantaire's defense, he honestly can't tell, because Enjolras looks all of fifteen and no one's using ranks or titles, so body language is all he has to go on at this point.

"You are definitely not Corinne Rives," Enjolras says before Bahorel (who Grantaire will probably always think of as Tall-and-Very-Muscular, and apparently prefers she/her pronouns if the conversation between her, Bossuet, and Musichetta on the walk over was any indication) can explain the situation.

Grantaire shakes his head, hoping the instinctual wince his family's surname evokes isn't too noticeable. "Ah, no. Colony news broadcasts had Minister Rives leaving the planet yesterday afternoon after an emergency summons from the Council, if that helps." He decides to shut up after that. He could probably give them a lot more information, like the route she was most likely to take and the number of security personnel accompanying her, but if there's one thing that's improved since he stopped drinking, it's his survival instinct.

Enjolras exchanges what is probably a very significant and meaningful look with the person standing to his immediate right, whom Grantaire has decided to call 'Glasses' until he's told otherwise. He tries not to watch them too closely while they converse quietly, tries not to look at too much of anything in the room in general. He doesn't want to give off the impression that he's spying, which is difficult because he can see an active research station out of the corner of his eye with what looks like design plans for a new, very sleek omni tool, and if he could just take even the slightest peek at it...

Instead, he keeps his gaze trained on as little as possible. The only other alternative is to stare at the other crew member in the room with them, and Grantaire is trying to appear as unassuming as possible (which shouldn't be too hard considering he's still in his goddamn pajamas, something he's just now realizing, for fuck's sake), so that's out of the question. A shame, really. Grantaire flicks his eyes back to Enjolras and Glasses for a moment. His fingers twitch toward where his pockets should be, automatically reaching for the pencil stub he usually carries around for when the urge to sketch strikes. They make such a striking pair, too, though the contrast in their appearances would probably come out better in oils.

Not that he can afford oil paint these days. Still. It's nice to imagine.

"What's your name?" Glasses is asking.

"What?" Grantaire replies. Enjolras glares at him. "Oh, me. Grantaire. Or R, for short."

It takes a moment, but Bossuet, Musichetta (his other guard, the one with the curls), and the so far unnamed crewmate (Alliance medical uniform, newer than Bahorel's BDUs, leaning heavily on a battered white cane) start to giggle. Grantaire is instantly charmed. _I've found my people,_ he thinks as Enjolras shoots them all a withering look.

"Grantaire, then," he says. "You're sure she left the colony?"

Grantaire shrugs. "I don't trust the media as far as I can throw them, but colony news is generally good at keeping the population in the know when it comes to their ministers' whereabouts. Especially when it's Rives. She's their darling." He says it with more bitterness than he usually feels when discussing Corinne and flinches when Glasses raises an eyebrow at him.

Apparently oblivious to any of that, Enjolras nods and turns to look at the console in the center of the room. "Courfeyrac," he calls, "do we have enough fuel to bring Grantaire back to the colony?"

"Not if you expect to leave this system ever," the console replies cheerfully.

Grantaire freezes. The voice is too mechanical to be anything but an artificial intelligence system. They're strictly controlled on C47E and have been since his childhood when the AI installed on an orbiting space station disabled the escape pods and life support, murdering hundreds of researchers and military living on board. None of the remaining AIs on the colony are connected to anything more vital than mining equipment, so there's never been any reason for him to come into contact with one before now. He wonders if he'll have a chance to interact with it at all.

"And I suppose there aren't any other colonies on our way that we could leave him on, either," Enjolras says with a sigh.

"Nope," Courfeyrac says. "But there is plenty of extra bedding on board, unless Bahorel's stolen it all again."

"Nothing wrong with being extra cozy," Bahorel mumbles.

"And," continues Courfeyrac, "he'll have to bunk with someone. He could stay with me in engineering, for example."

Grantaire gapes at the console. _Did an AI just proposition me?_

Enjolras grimaces. "He can't just go with us. He's a complete unknown, and that's a risk we can't take at this point in the mission. We don't even know why the transporter picked him up when it was specifically calibrated to lock onto Rives' DNA."

_Ah,_ Grantaire thinks. _Well, that make this whole experience make so much more sense._ "Yeah, about that," he begins to say before Courfeyrac cuts him off.

"Corinne Rives and Grantaire are a genetic match. Even if Rives had been on the planet, there was a 50% chance Grantaire would have been acquired in her place."

Grantaire feels a blush creep up his chest and neck as everyone in the room looks at him. "I was about to explain that Corinne and I are twins."

"Fraternal twins with a perfect genetic match are impossible," Glasses says, frowning. "Also, all of our intelligence indicated Rives' sibling died not too long before the last election."

_Yes, well, Corinne would do a lot of things to win an election,_ Grantaire thinks as he waves a hand dismissively to cover up his discomfort, _and if it got rid of the black sheep of the family at the same time, even better._

"We're identical twins," he says out loud. "I'm, uh, trans." _And an alcoholic, and a drug addict, and an artist and dancer instead of an engineer or a soldier, and myriad other offenses my family couldn't live with._ "I guess mourning a fake death is easier to deal with than, well. Me."

Enjolras' lips twists into a frown in the silence that follows that statement. He opens his mouth and then closes it just as quickly, as if he suddenly has too many questions to ask and isn't sure which is the most important. Grantaire glances over to Bahorel, who shrugs and stops standing at attention in favor of leaning back against the wall behind them.

"Enjolras, Combeferre," Courfeyrac says, cutting into the sudden quiet, "if you're not too busy, we're being hailed by a very nice Alliance admiral who'd like to, and I quote, 'blow us out of the fucking sky for being fucking thieves'."

Glasses and Enjolras curse in unison and rush out of the room into a dimly-lit hallway. Bossuet pats Grantaire on the shoulder before running after them, Bahorel following close behind. Grantaire stares after them until Musichetta clears her throat to grab his attention.

"Well," she says, "seems like you've been surrendered to our tender mercies."

He hesitates, then asks, "Are we actually going to be blown out of the sky?"

"Probably not," the crew member in the medical uniform informs him cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind bunking with Musichetta, Bossuet, and me. We don't have any extra space in the crew quarters, and engineering is way too drafty. I'm Joly, by the way. I'm the doctor around these parts."

Grantaire glances between Joly and Musichetta, who both gesture for him to follow them out of the room and then leave without making sure he's following them. He hesitates. They _seem_ genuine and friendly—but he's only known them for an hour, maybe less. He shouldn't trust them, all of his newly developed defense mechanisms are telling him that people aren't this nice to strangers and especially not to someone like _him_ , and yet...

And yet.

"I'm an unabashed cuddler," Grantaire warns them as he catches up to them in the hallway.

Musichetta throws him a grin over her shoulder. "That is the opposite of a problem," she says.

***

They don't get blown out of the sky, which is actually nothing short of a miracle, Bahorel later informs Grantaire.

"Don't get me wrong, Bossuet's a brilliant pilot and all," she says over dinner, "but there's always _something_ that goes wrong when he's behind the wheel. He once flew us through an entire Alliance armada thinking that our cloak was active, but it turns out the system shorted halfway in and no one noticed until the next day. This time the shields went out for a split second."

Bossuet, sitting next to her, shrugs. "Everyone has to have a skill."

Bahorel punches him in the arm.

For the next five days, as they limp across the galaxy on their limited fuel cells and try not to draw the attention of any more nearby Alliance ships, Joly and Musichetta (and occasionally Bossuet, if he's not on duty) happily show Grantaire every inch of their beloved ship, the _Égalité_ , causing Enjolras and Combeferre to sigh in exasperation every time they're caught at it. Clearly their real assignment is to guard Grantaire and keep him out of trouble, but they seem to have adopted him instead. Joly introduces him to Marius, the ship's other pilot, and explains in hushed tones as they walk away that he is hopelessly in love with Cosette, who stowed away on the ship three years ago and was only discovered when Enjolras caught her fixing a vent for them a week after. After meeting her and watching them interact (it's abundantly clear that Cosette returns Marius' awkward affections, but they both seem content to do exactly nothing about it), Grantaire can't help but cover his face with his hands and groan.

"They're so fucking sweet, it's painful," he tells Bossuet. "Can I petition them to at least hold hands once before I leave this ship?"

"Your lips to god's ears, my friend," says Bossuet, patting him on the shoulder.

After Cosette, there are no more introductions, and Grantaire wonders to himself if that's the extent of the crew. The _Égalité_ isn't all that large, most of its space taken up by the cavernous storage and landing area he'd woken up in, the shielded drive core, and the space that doubles as an engineering and research station. By comparison, the crew quarters are tiny and cramped, and the bridge only feels larger because of the space needed for the galaxy map. No one seems to mind that they're constantly bumping into each other in the halls and in the mess; in fact, Grantaire finds himself being pulled into someone's lap more often than not when the chairs run out at meal times.

It's… _nice_. More than nice, even. Grantaire wasn't lying when he told Musichetta and Joly that he was a cuddler. He craves contact, used to spend hours curled up in his parents' (and aunts' and uncles' and whoever else sat still for more than a minute around him, really) arms as a child and could never understand why Corinne never wanted to do the same. All of that warmth was cut off when they disowned him, of course, and while going through rehab and starting hormone replacement therapy have made him feel more complete physically, they haven't done much for his self-confidence when it comes to meeting new people. Here, however, no one thinks twice about hugging him, or curling up in bed with him, and he feels drunk with happiness, despite knowing it's only a temporary situation.

In fact, he tries to think about that as little as possible.

It's only in the middle of a conversation with Combeferre and Courfeyrac (who is fascinated by the concept of bodies and regularly teases Grantaire into sharing his thoughts on the matter) that Grantaire learns that there are four other crew members not currently on board with them. He suspects that they'd hoped to drop him off somewhere sooner than this so an outsider wouldn't have complete knowledge of their personnel, but Courfeyrac mentions a Jehan offhandedly, and Grantaire looks to Combeferre for clarification.

"He and three other members of our...group have been working undercover on the Citadel for seven months," Combeferre says. He hesitates. "I suppose, since you've seen the medical supply crates already, that you probably have some inkling of what we do already."

Grantaire nods. "When I was still in my family's good graces, I worked in an Alliance medical research station on the colony. It wasn't a position with a lot of clearance, but things trickle down, and one of my duties was overseeing supply distribution when deliveries were made. Most of the time, the numbers didn't add up between what I knew we'd gotten and what was being given to the population. Anyone who commented didn't last long on the job."

He doesn't say, I _didn't last long on the job._ For the first time in months, Grantaire craves a shot of whiskey.

"Things like that are happening almost everywhere," Combeferre tells him, leaning forward. His voice takes on a tone of urgency. "Enjolras saw it when he interned for the legal group that works as a go-between for the Alliance and several private medical manufacturers. Joly and I noticed it in the hospitals we were residents in."

"So the higher-ups are skimming the goods," Grantaire says. He thinks about the rising cost of his hormone therapy and shakes his head. "Does this really come as a shock to you? They're probably re-selling most of it to whoever's got the credits."

"It isn't just medical," Courfeyrac interjects. "Thirty percent of new colonies seeded in the last ten years have failed due to insufficient food supplies, but official Alliance supply ship manifests indicate the necessary amounts were delivered. More than half of the mining colonies occupied by humans have seen a sixty percent increase in military presence in the last year alone, and the number of non-human operations being quietly sold to human-run corporations is unprecedented, to say the least."

"Enjolras doesn't think it's something as simple as greedy politicians and their equally greedy friends," says Combeferre. "We all agree with him, but we're not entirely sure what _is_ happening, if that's the case. Supplies don't just go missing; someone must be moving and storing them somewhere. That's why we needed people on the inside, to see if anything's being said at levels higher than colony politics."

Grantaire absorbs this. He doesn't doubt that they're onto something, given what he's just been told and his own experiences, but he's not sure what they expect to accomplish by spying in the Citadel and kidnapping ministers. It's one thing to take excess supplies and redistribute them to those in need, and another thing entirely for a group of thirteen individuals with criminal records and no political power whatsoever to disrupt the galaxy's governing body, however corrupt and terrible it may be.

His expression must be showing his train of thought, because Combeferre gives him a rueful half-smile.

"It's not that I don't agree with your intentions," Grantaire says.

"I know," Combeferre says. "It's an awful gamble to take, especially when we've done so much good operating under the radar."

"But," Enjolras' voice cuts in like a blade, "if we don't do something, who will? If everyone who sees all of this unfolding is too frightened about the possible consequences to do anything about it, the problem persists and grows and becomes even more toxic. The Alliance claims it has our best interests at heart, but its actions say otherwise. We happen to be in a position to do something about that, to expose them if there's anything to expose, and we'd be just as terrible as them if we didn't."

Enjolras, Grantaire has noticed over the last few days, has a way with speaking. The words are straightforward and plain, always uttered in a low and even tone, but the intensity with which he speaks penetrates and commands more than any shout or scream might. His belief in what he's saying is palpable, and Grantaire finds himself wishing he had even half that conviction.

_I hope you're right,_ Grantaire thinks as he watches Enjolras and Combeferre head off to the bridge, but he makes himself get up and walk the other way before he can say the words out loud.

***

They rendezvous with the rest of their crew at a small, uninhabited planet not too far from the Citadel the next day. Bossuet points out Eponine, her brother Gavroche, Jehan, and Feuilly to Grantaire from outside the mess during the initial reunion, and they in turn seem just as welcoming as the others had been, if somewhat perplexed by the fact that Enjolras let a civilian stay on board at this point in the mission. No one is more surprised than Grantaire, though, when Enjolras waves a hand at them.

"I've been giving the matter some thought," he says, "and I believe Grantaire could actually be useful."

"Wow, thanks," Grantaire says without thinking. "I mean, uh, sure, why not. I guess I owe you for the free vacation, after all."

This earns him several frowns, one even from Enjolras, but instead of commenting, they all file out of the mess and down to the engineering/research station where they can all fit more comfortably. As they walk, Grantaire watches as Feuilly (a tiny slip of a thing with brilliant red hair) has a whispered conversation with Enjolras. They're too far ahead for him to overhear, but Enjolras' expression is grim and telling all the same. Whatever news the spies have brought back, it's something big.

Grantaire takes a seat closest to the research station where the plans for the omni tool upgrade are still displayed on the screen. The hologram is constantly revolving and tilting to show off all its features no matter what angle it's being viewed from, and Grantaire chances a lingering look at it while everyone else settles down. This omni tool is clearly meant to be top-of-the-line, most likely for private use since he can't imagine the military shelling out the money to replace the standard issue systems when they're still more than functional. Most of the microframe displays and sensors look identical to the ones Grantaire has in his own, if updated for aesthetics' sake in three or four places—in fact, the only glaring change is the minifacturing fabricator and delivery mechanisms. There's something...missing from them, and he's tempted to activate his to compare and contrast. Still, that's the section that's blinking, so there has to be _something_ new.

_It's been a while since you worked on these,_ he reminds himself, _and it's not like you ever understood all of the nitty-gritty details, anyway._

"Feuilly tells me that Corinne Rives never arrived on the Citadel," Enjolras says.

Grantaire blinks and tears his gaze away from the omni tool plans to stare at him. Musichetta, who'd claimed a spot next to him, squeezes his knee. All eyes are on Grantaire now, and several things click into place in his mind.

"You think I know where she might have gone," he says.

"We know you said you two weren't all that close," says Combeferre, "but can you think of anything that might be helpful? Did she take any trips that weren't to the Citadel, perhaps for pleasure?"

Grantaire frowns. "Corinne never took vacations. As far as I could tell, she had a plan that ended with her being the youngest minister in our colony's history, and everything she did was in pursuit of that. She only ever travels to the Citadel and back, and I hear she prefers to conduct most of her business via comm systems and not in person."

Enjolras lets out an aggravated huff of air. "Does your family own any property?" he asks.

"I wouldn't know," Grantaire says with a shrug. "We never went anywhere when I was young, and they'd kicked me out by the time I was old enough to know." _Unless—_ He pauses, though, and searches back through his early memories. "It's possible...I mean, I think my mother and her sisters had a resort on some moon in the next star system over from ours, but I was always under the impression that it failed and they sold it off."

Enjolras turns to Combeferre and nods. "That's got to be it."

"What is?" Grantaire asks. He looks around the room, but no one else seems confused or surprised.

"Combeferre told you he thought whoever's behind this has been storing everything somewhere, right?" Bahorel says. "We've been tracking random shipments to see which actually make it to the colonies and which don't. Usually the transmitters remain active even after delivery, but we noticed that most of the ones sent to C47E stop working almost as soon as they arrive on the planet."

"So you suspect Corinne is—what? Laundering the missing supplies?" Grantaire asks. Even as he says it, it starts to make sense to him, except for one thing. "Corinne has only been minister for a year."

Combeferre nods. "And who was minister of your colony at the time your mother's resort failed?"

"My father." Grantaire groans. "So basically what you're saying is that my family's been a part of whatever this is since the beginning."

"You're not the only one whose family is probably involved," Eponine says. Grantaire looks over to her. This is the first time she's spoken directly to him beyond a simple greeting, and she and Gavroche are staring back at him.

Grantaire opens his mouth to respond, but a sudden flashing from the omni tool plans distracts him. _That really shouldn't be happening,_ he thinks, _especially on a design hologram._ "Where did you get these plans?" he asks. "There's something wrong with them."

"Bossuet recovered them on C47E the night we picked you up," says Bahorel.

"What's wrong with them?" Enjolras asks, suddenly standing next to Grantaire.

Grantaire gets up from the floor and leans over the research station. The fabricator isn't pulsing quite as fast as it was a moment ago, now flashing in the same steady rhythm it had been when they first walked into the room and sat down. A memory tugs at Grantaire's brain: a conversation he'd overheard just before he quit his job and left the family, right when his drug use had been at its worst. It's hazy, as everything was at that point, but he vaguely recalls his supervisor mentioning new omni tools being outfitted with an upgraded tracking system for long-term field operations on unexplored planets.

Without thinking, Grantaire presses the blinking section of the hologram, and a loud transmission screech fills the room, causing everyone to gasp and clutch at their ears. He slams the palm of his hand down on the station control, cutting off the noise and shutting the hologram down instantly. There's silence for a beat, then—

"It's been transmitting this entire time," Enjolras breathes out.

" _Shit_ ," someone says from behind them.

Combeferre and Bossuet spend a few hours after their discovery working with Courfeyrac to make sure that by simply shutting down the research station, the omni tool plans won't transmit anything else. Once they're satisfied (and once Enjolras and Bahorel complete a full sweep of the _Égalité_ ), Enjolras calls them onto the bridge, space issues be damned. Grantaire places himself in one corner, expecting to be left alone, but Eponine and Cosette join him a moment later. Neither of them say anything at first, but they knock their shoulders against his and smile.

"Like I said," Eponine murmurs as Enjolras calls them all to order, "you're not the only one with a crooked family."

"I knew they weren't great," he replies, "I just didn't realize they were this _bad_."

She nods and pats his knee.

After that, it's all business. Combeferre asks Grantaire to point out the location of the moon where his mother and aunts used to have their resort, and Courfeyrac announces that it will take them approximately four hours to travel there from their current location. Shorter, he says, if they took some time to acquire a few more fuel cells.

"We shouldn't waste any more time," Enjolras says. "Jehan and Gavroche lifted a few cases of thermal and biotic clips, so depending on what the security force is like when we arrive, we should be okay."

"Are we assuming they'll still be there when we get there, though?" Joly asks. "If they know that we know—"

"I think," Combeferre says, adjusting his glasses, "that we should prepare for the worst."

The pilot's console beeps. Marius runs a hand over the controls and consults the screen that pops up before looking over his shoulder and jerking his head at Bossuet. Both pilots have a whispered conversation as Enjolras continues to outline the plan of attack to the rest of the crew.

Grantaire only half-listens. He assumes that his part in this is finished, that now that he's given them the probable location of their objective, they'll send him off in a shuttle to be picked up by whatever Alliance ship next passes by him. He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn't _want_ to leave. For the first time in years, he's surrounded by people who, for whatever reason, have accepted him as he is, who don't seem to care that he's been nothing but a disappointment to everyone else in his life. He's been happy and excited, hasn't felt the numb indifference that's defined the past few years of his life once since waking up in the landing area of the ship.

"Grantaire?"

He shakes himself. Everyone on the bridge, save Marius and Bossuet (still arguing quietly over something), is staring at him. "Sorry, I was miles away. What?"

"I can program one of our shuttles to ferry you directly to the Citadel, if you want," Combeferre says. "If we fail, and you're with us, chances are your sister won't be able to or wish to help you out. It's all up to you."

Cosette slips her hand into his and squeezes. Across the room, Joly and Musichetta grin at him. Enjolras stares, expressionless, and Grantaire swallows against a lump in his throat.

"No," he hears himself say. "I'll stay with you."

Enjolras nods once, sharply. "Alright."

Another, more urgent sound emanates from the pilot's console. Bossuet rejoins the group, a grim look stretched across his normally jovial face.

"We've got company," he says. "It's time to go, either way."

***

Javert (the admiral, Grantaire learns, who'd attacked them as they were leaving C47E) pursues them all the way to the moon they're hoping is the location of all the missing supplies. As she sets Grantaire up with a pistol and protective gear, Bahorel explains that he's been on their trail for two years, becoming more and more unhinged with every encounter.

"It'd be funny if he weren't so trigger-happy," she says. "His orders are to take us alive since we haven't really done all that much, but I suspect he doesn't want to bother with the paperwork for prisoners. Plus, there's something to be said for just blowing something up."

Cosette, also outfitting herself nearby, hums in agreement, a dreamy look crossing over her face. Grantaire vaguely wonders if he needs to reevaluate his view of her. _Maybe I won't get a chance,_ he thinks. The idea sends a ripple of fear down his spine.

"Do you think," he starts to say, then hesitates. "Do you think this is a good idea? Just going there, not knowing what's waiting for us exactly?"

Bahorel glances at him, then snaps another thermal clip to her utility belt. "If we wait, they'll move, and we won't have another opportunity like this one. What else _can_ we do?"

_Drink. We could all get trashed right now and never have to think about this again._ Grantaire runs a thumb over the handle of his borrowed pistol. _I would give up sobriety if it meant you'd all live. At least I wouldn't be alone this time._

He follows Bahorel and Cosette back to the bridge in silence. There, they find Enjolras and Combeferre listening to Courfeyrac rattle off a list of facts about the moon's environment (tropic, with lush, dense foliage; very humid, violent rainy season lasting most of its year). Bossuet and Feuilly are checking the guidance system on a portable biotic cannon they're all hoping they won't have to use. The rest of the crew are speaking quietly amongst themselves, all of them armed to the teeth.

"We're nearly there," Enjolras says after Courfeyrac finishes his report. "Marius will land us and stay with the ship unless we tell him otherwise. Joly will stay behind as well. I need someone else to volunteer to stay with them as backup and protection."

Cosette and Eponine exchange looks, both clearly wanting the other to stay behind and keep Marius out of trouble but wanting to join the landing party themselves at the same time. Bossuet and Musichetta very carefully keep their gazes trained on the floor. Grantaire sighs and saves them both the trouble by raising his hand. Enjolras' face falls into a sour look, as if he's angry, or disappointed, or both. _Probably both._

"I'm not great with guns," Grantaire says, indignation swelling up inside him. "I'm not a soldier. Trust me, you don't want me on the front line with you."

Enjolras snorts and shakes his head. "Fine, do what you like," he says, and then turns away. "Marius, where are we?"

"Entering the moon's atmosphere now, landing in twenty minutes. Javert's ship is still an issue, though."

"Cloak the ship as soon as we're on the ground," Enjolras tells him. "Between that and Javert needing to establish an orbit and then deploy shuttles, it should buy us some time to do what we need to do."

For a long time after they land and the crew leave the ship, everything is quiet, save for the hum of the ship's core. Joly retreats to his medical station, wanting to be ready in case the others return with serious injuries. Marius stays within arm's reach of the pilot's console, fidgeting and pacing and jumping at every unexpected noise. Eventually he gets so bad that Grantaire can't stand to look at him anymore and has to go stand outside. This, of course, is a terrible idea. Without Marius' nervousness to distract him, Grantaire is left alone with his own anxiety and fears, and very soon there's a muddy line in the ground running parallel to the edge of the exit ramp.

He gives it another twenty minutes before he goes back inside.

"Have you heard anything yet?" Grantaire asks.

Marius shakes his head. His thumb is bloody with how far down he's bitten the nail. Grantaire makes a mental note to buy him some mittens if they get out of this alive.

The console chirps, signaling an active communication. Marius throws himself into the pilot's chair, and Grantaire rushes up to stand directly behind him. His hands shake as they press down on the board to activate their end of the call.

" _Landing party to_ Égalité." It's Enjolras, his normal, even tone betraying nothing. Grantaire feels his back tense up.

" _Égalité_ to landing party, we read you," Marius responds.

"Our business is concluded. Join us when you can."

_We're fucked,_ is what that means according to the code they agreed on before leaving the ship. Grantaire grips the back of the pilot's chair tightly. It's supposed to be the signal for Marius to drop the cloak and get them the hell out of there so that Joly can then disseminate the information they've gathered and acted on to people who might be able to do something with it where the crew of the _Égalité_ failed.

"Understood," Marius is saying. He closes the comm channel and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before exhaling slowly.

"I suppose that means we need to get going," Joly says behind them.

Courfeyrac is conspicuously silent.

Grantaire feels a scream well up inside his throat. He can't believe that they're just going to go along with this. A small part of him acknowledges that this is most definitely harder for them than it is for him, but the majority of his brain is shrieking in disbelief and horror and sorrow and—

_Wait._ "Wait," he says as Marius is about to de-cloak the ship. "I have an idea."

Joly and Marius give him their attention.

***

The storage facility is roughly a mile away from where they landed, and Grantaire is absolutely unused to walking through jungles, so by the time he reaches the building he's sweating profusely and breathing hard.

 _I should've taken the fucking land rover like Courfeyrac suggested,_ he thinks. _Goddamnit, I should not be this out of shape._

There are two guards posted at the front entrance to the building, both armed with submachine guns and probably a hundred other weapons Grantaire can't immediately identify. He emerges from the underbrush with his arms in the air and trying to give off an air of submission. Luckily, they don't shoot him on sight, which gives him hope that the others are actually still alive as well.

They pass him off to another pair of heavily-armed guards inside who guide him down a series of confusing, twisting hallways. The building was clearly not meant to act as a glorified storage unit at all; the architecture is too ornate and delicate, if battered by years of disuse and the natural elements. What little of his mother and aunts he can remember from before their disappointment in him drove them apart, Grantaire sees in the overarching design. He's surprised by how much it hurts.

Soon enough, though, the guards bring him into what must have been a large bathing area, though the pools are empty and overgrown with vines and saplings. In the middle of the largest pool, the crew of the _Égalité_ kneel in a circle, their hands and ankles bound behind them. Combeferre is the first to notice Grantaire's arrival, and his alarm catches the others' attention as well. Enjolras, when he realizes what's happening, looks like he wants to strangle Grantaire.

_Fair, maybe,_ Grantaire thinks, but he focuses his attention on the woman standing on the other side of the room.

Corinne never looks anything but perfectly put together, and today is no exception. Her long, beautiful curls are shining and artfully pinned back, her makeup looks natural and understated, and her suit is utterly pristine. She looks, in short, like she belongs in a boardroom or in the most elite levels of the Citadel, and not in this rundown building that's more than half wild.

She's glaring at Grantaire.

"I knew I couldn't trust you to stay the fuck out of my business," Corinne hisses when he's brought to her. "You've always been such a fucking nuisance."

"Whatever," Grantaire says. "If it weren't for the fact that we're identical, no one would've ever suspected we were related. You didn't have to fake my death, though I'm sure the sympathy votes really pushed you to the top. Maybe you should be thanking me."

Corinne's glare intensifies. "And now you're running around with a bunch of criminals. I _should_ shoot you now before this gets back to the colony. I won't let you ruin my reputation anymore."

"Oh, by all means, shoot me where I stand," Grantaire says as airily as he can manage. "Also, calling me a criminal? That's rich coming from someone who's stealing from the Alliance."

There's a small noise of protest behind him. Corinne merely narrows her eyes. She makes no move to grab the pistol lying on the table next to her, and Grantaire hopes his glibness is enough to buy the necessary time.

"You're hiding something," says Corinne. "We may not have been close as children, but I do know you. What are you going to do—blow up the building with all of us in it? We're already moving our stores as we speak, there's nothing you can do about it. There's something coming, R, and I'm going to be the one humanity comes crawling to for help, not the fucking Council. I'm not going to let you ruin all of my preparations because of some misguided sense of—"

And that is when Javert and his soldiers burst into the room.

In the ensuing chaos, Grantaire manages several things that everyone is later (much, much later) very impressed by, if he does say so himself.

One, he gets free of the handcuffs the guards (improperly) placed on him and swipes Corinne's pistol from the table. More of Corinne's guards come pouring into the room to clash with the Alliance military personnel, and for a while everything is very confusing as both groups are wearing the same uniform. Two, Grantaire frees the crew of the _Égalité_ and activates the short-range cloaking device Marius and Joly had hobbled together. Enjolras tries to break away from the group, clearly intent on going back and having it out with both Corinne and Javert, but Combeferre takes hold of his arm and drags him along with the rest of the group.

Three, he drops the pistol by accident, and a shot that would have killed both him and Bossuet misses them entirely when they both bend down to pick the weapon up.

"Best and worst luck," Bossuet mutters as they escape into the jungle and towards the _Égalité_.

***

Days later, Grantaire finds himself once again lying down atop one of the medical supply crates in the loading area of the ship, very carefully not thinking about the fact that none of his new friends have said anything about whether he's going to be allowed to stay with them or not.

He jumps when Enjolras suddenly appears and sits down on the crate with him.

"I'm going to make you a bell," Grantaire tells him.

"Thank you," Enjolras says.

Grantaire frowns at him. "It's not meant to be a compliment, you—"

"For disobeying my orders and saving us, I mean."

"Ah." Grantaire settles back down against the crate and stares up at the ceiling. "You're, uh, welcome. Sorry about the cloaking system, though."

Enjolras shrugs. "Cosette will fix it soon, I'm sure. If it weren't for her and Eponine, this ship wouldn't be anywhere near functional."

They fall into silence. Grantaire's never quite sure what to say to Enjolras, though he'd relish the chance to learn. He wants that chance with Eponine, too, and Gavroche, and Jehan, and all the rest of them, as well. _How do I ask for it, though? How do you take a leap like that without everything falling to pieces right after?_

"You should stay with us," says Enjolras.

"What?" Grantaire asks.

Enjolras hops down from the crate and starts to walk back toward the main section of the ship. "You should stay. If you want, that is. There's more to be done, after all, and you've turned out to be kind of useful."

_What._

"That was meant as a compliment, R," Enjolras calls from the hallway.

Grantaire grins and allows himself to hope (just a little) for the first time in a long while.


End file.
